


Liquid Anus

by hannigramcracker



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Graphic Depictions of Illness, M/M, Vomiting, puke without plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 12:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19441762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannigramcracker/pseuds/hannigramcracker
Summary: The aftermath of Will it Funnel Cake? Link really didn't look so good during More....





	Liquid Anus

**Author's Note:**

> hey it's me, watched today's More like four times, talked about it a lot, wrote this in an hour and a half and didn't proofread it here we are

“Link doesn’t like French onion soup.” 

Rhett had tried to give him an out. He had  _ tried  _ and Link had ignored it. 

Josh was talking. 

He wasn’t listening anymore, things were a blur. His thoughts hadn’t moved in a linear way since he swallowed the first - and only - bite he had taken of the soup. It had burned the roof of his mouth and made him start to salivate again and the rush of it brought up the echo of anus. He could tell his forehead was tense, his brows pinched, but he couldn’t relax his muscles enough. His stomach turned  _ again _ and he swallowed harshly. 

He heard Josh mention  _ gravy  _ and god he almost gagged. His hand went to his mouth on a reflex. He diverted by itching the side of his nose, just for a moment, and the stench was still stuck to his skin. 

“Oh gosh.” he mumbled, wasn’t entirely sure if the mics would pick that up or not. His breathing was picking up, he could feel it. He sniffed his fingers again, then thrust them at Josh.  _ smell of that  _ “I can still smell it on my fingers.” 

“Oh, it’s way worse on his fingers.” Josh confirmed, though Link didn’t exactly realize he had asked. 

Link cursed internally, he was losing it. He had unfolded his arms from around himself to make Josh smell his fingers, and now he was regretting it. He wanted nothing more than to apply some pressure to his bubbling gut. His chest was starting to heave and he had to swallow. And then he had to swallow again, deep and long. He licked his lips and closed his eyes again, just for a moment. 

He hadn’t checked the monitor in a while. He had no idea if he looked as awful as he felt, and could only hope his commentary made sense with what Rhett was saying. He could feel Rhett’s eyes on him, even though he was keeping the conversation with Josh going. Link could tell he was sneaking glances, and he wanted more than anything to be able to tell Rhett what was going on. Each breath rattled nausea into his chest, and it was swelling every moment. Link knew it had been too long since he had spoken. 

Josh had just said the words “anal goo” and Link had to focus on slowing down his breathing. He took one long slow breath and licked his lips at the end of it. It took every bit of strength he had to not surge forward with a loud retch. He swallowed back tepid saliva again, and he clenched his teeth so hard he was sure tears would spring to his eyes. His fingers scrubbed against the inside of his left hand, searching for his wedding ring. He focused all of his energy on spinning it, twisting his fingers up as he did so. It helped him stay grounded for a moment, and it was long enough. 

“Liquid anus.” 

  
  


“Liquid anus….wasn’t that the name of the band that played at my wedding?” Rhett asked. Link knew Rhett was talking to him, obviously that’s not something that Josh would know. Link focused on Rhett’s question, searched his mind for the answer. It granted him a brief moment of clarity, the nausea dissipated long enough for him to get his breath back under control. He hadn’t realized how close he had been to either vomiting or hyperventilating. 

“Liquid Pleasure.” Link laughed, it was easy to exchange banter with Rhett, it didn’t require him to have to think too hard. He found himself wondering how many other details of Rhett’s wedding Link remembered that Rhett himself didn’t. He couldn’t dwell there for long, the queasy edges to his vision were creeping back in. His laugh started to jostle the contents of his stomach, made his scalp feel sticky. He didn’t think he had  _ ever _ been this close to getting sick on camera when he wasn’t meant to. 

Link’s stomach flipped and he knew his face was showing it. He needed to switch. He needed to talk about something safe, something sturdy and stable and simple. 

_ Escalators.  _

He started rambling, started asking Rhett to do what he does best and steer the conversation away from him. And it worked. Link huffed a laugh here and there, and it was enough. He sucked his teeth, trying to swallow down the drool that was still blossoming into his mouth. He sipped his water, trying to quell his nausea, but it persisted. He could feel his stomach bubbling, could feel bites of greasy funnel cake churning deep within his gut. 

It burned. The pain was different from his usual post-gross food ache. It was a weird urgent kind of pain, it felt like a fire smoldering in his stomach, the flame ready to crackle back to life at any moment. Link barely dragged himself through the last few moments of More, looking offset and hoping he was making a good attempt at closing the episode. 

His eye caught on his trash can as soon as the cameras stopped rolling and it was torture to see not only the spit out painus cake piled to one side, but the regurgitated remains of the funnel cakes that came before it. He swore he could smell it in the air, acidic and high. Link swallowed again, hard, and gnashed his teeth. 

He turned back to Rhett and Josh, the two of them still talking. Rhett motioned to the bowl of soup, offering to move it off set with him. Josh stood up, taking his chair with him. Rhett grabbed the large bowl, and Link tried not to let his thoughts linger on the way it sloshed in the bowl when it was moved. He licked his lips again and blew a breath out in a smooth long line through his pursed mouth. 

Rhett’s hand lit against his shoulder. “I won’t be gone long.” 

Link had thought he was doing a good job hiding that he wasn’t doing well, but he should have known that Rhett could see right through him. The Mythical Beasts were going to be able to as well. But it was too late to dwell on that. A splash of bile hit the back of Link’s throat unexpectedly to punctuate the thought. 

He grit his teeth against it, willing himself to swallow, clenching so hard he was sure his jaw was going to hurt for days. The nausea built and sent a flash of heat up his spine while shooting ice through his veins. He tried to breath slowly, calmly, but it was a fruitless endeavor. Saliva continued to pool, strung between his teeth when he opened his mouth to take in another deep breath. 

Link wondered when Rhett would be back. He said he wouldn’t be gone long, but that felt like an eternity ago. Link could feel sweat beading on his brow, kept feeling like he should bring his hands to guard his mouth. The back of his jaw was starting to go numb. Without really thinking, Link put one arm across the table and laid his head in it. He clenched his fist against the table, fingernails stinging halfmoons into his palms. 

He felt terrible. He felt like he was swaying, constantly in motion. He kept feeling bile crawl up the back of his throat. He wanted to reach out and grab his bucket, but the thought of the vomit stinking in the bottom of it made an empty gag bubble out. Link moaned, strained and quiet. He squirmed his legs against each other in the chair, trying not to fall off of it again, but somehow trying to escape the expanding discomfort in his stomach. 

He wanted this to stop. He wanted Rhett to come back, to do something to make him feel better. If Rhett was here he wouldn’t have to  _ think  _ about anything right now. He wouldn’t have to worry about what was going to happen when he vomited all over himself on set because Rhett  _ wouldn’t let that happen.  _ Thinking on the act of vomiting brought a heady burp forth, the taste sour and terrible. Link brought his other fist to his mouth, grunted into it. 

He didn’t hear Rhett come back in over his own misery. 

“Oh, angel.” Rhett’s voice melted through his haze. “Let’s get you away from these lights.” 

Link nodded, but kept his eyes closed. He was worried he might cry if he saw Rhett’s concerned face. He felt like he was trembling anyway. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he could walk on his own. He would have given anything for Rhett to scoop him up and carry him away to their office like when they were both teenagers without bad backs, but instead Rhett just hoisted him up, and helped him stand. It would probably be better like this anyway. He was less likely to puke unexpectedly if both his feet remained on the floor. 

Or so he thought. 

Link had only been standing up for a few moments when nausea ripped through him again. He wrapped one hand around his stomach and pressed the other against the top of the desk for stability. He almost wanted to fold in half as a retch escaped him. It was empty, but it was  _ loud.  _ He moved the hand from his stomach as Rhett’s arms found his shoulders. He pressed his other palm to his lips. 

And caught another snatch of the pig anus gravy. 

He bent forward, hand still pressed to his mouth. It was the only thing that tethered him to himself. He felt Rhett moving next to him, whined low in his throat. He wanted him to be still, wanted him to stop moving so he could catch his breath and swallow back the spit collected under his tongue. It wasn’t working, he gagged again before he could stop, lips parting behind his hand. The gag was wet, had thick and chunky bile exploding into the back of his throat. Another heave rode on the tails of the first, sending the bile cascading into his mouth. Link closed his mouth, teeth cracking against each other as he bent even further down, knees trembling. 

He held fast to Rhett, pressed his hand so hard into his pale lips his arm shook. “Hang on, oh. Oh, bo. Hold on.” 

Link heard plastic rustle and looked down in front of him, eyes bleary with tears. It was his trash can. Normally, Link would have clung. He would have taken the worn plastic as a comfort and retched his lungs up into its familiar embrace. But this time, his vision could only focus on the hunk of chewed pig anul that swayed in the bottom. 

Link turned his head, another violent heave rocketing up his throat. It was too much to hold back this time. The sight, the stench, the memory of the taste and how desperately nauseous he had felt during recording all came back with a rush. His teeth stayed clenched, but vomit burst from his closed lips and through the cracks in his fingers. He tried so frantically to clench down, to keep himself from being sick everywhere. He tried again to swallow back, but he heaved at the same time he swallowed and it sent vomit spraying from his nose. 

Link moved his hand, a palmful of sick splattering onto the desk. He was dizzy, trembling, he couldn’t breath and all he could smell was hot, sour stomach acid. He heaved again, hands splayed on the surface of the desk in front of him. He tried to ignore the way one palm squelched against the surface. He tried to ignore the fact that he was making a mess of his workspace, of himself, his clothes, Rhett --

He burned in shame as another gag came forth. He couldn’t even begin to stop it. It fountained in an arc from his mouth. Another harsh wave followed almost immediately after, leaving Link with no time to breathe. He choked on the thick stream, splattering it from his lips. His jaw strained open, not able to widen far enough to accommodate the gags that were trying to break free. Drool hung from his lips in strands, connected his chin to the wood. It was so hard to hold himself up. He was panting, spitting drool and heaving emptily. Link felt hands guiding him down, lowing him into the chair and holding him up. One of them rubbed up and down his bag as he belched up another abortive mouthful of slurry. It coated his chin and rolled down his neck, not quite making it to the spreading mess on the table. 

“Breathe, baby. You’re okay. I’m here.” Rhett was hushing him, whispering in his ear, somehow not disgusting in the display before him. 

Link coughed, leaned forward for one more aggressive and rumbling heave. It was empty, but it hurt. 

“I’m - sorry.” Link gasped. He was still panting, still nauseated, but he felt he was empty. He had heaved himself inside out, and the evidence was right there in front of him. Link glanced at it and a sickening twist assaulted his gut. He turned his head and dry heaved in Rhett’s direction. 

“Okay, there, bo. Whoa, there.” Rhett’s hands steadied Link as he nearly listed into Rhett’s lap. His hands were soft, big, and felt amazing against Link’s heated face. Rhett moved Link’s hair back over his forehead, and plucked the glasses off of his nose. “Let me have those.” 

Link nodded, he was exhausted, pliant in Rhett’s arms. “Didn’ mean…” Link closed his eyes but jerked his chin in the direction of the vomit soaked desk. It was their new desk. They’d just gotten it. They’d be cleaning specks of puke from the mic for weeks…. 

“Hush, angel. You didn’t do a thing wrong.” Rhett whispered into Link’s hair. “I’ll clean this up later. But right now, we gotta get you cleaned up.” 

Link nodded. His neck felt wet and sticky. He wanted to be clean and warm and in bed. Well, the bed part could wait. Maybe Rhett would cuddle him on the couch while his hair dried….

“Of course I will, bo.” 

Link looked up. He didn’t realized he’d been talking out loud. He was so lucky to have Rhett there to make sure everything was going to be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> sorry I haven't been around, I've been working on a big SECRET project. It'll be here in the next few months. But I had to take a break for vom.


End file.
